


Pockets

by Chocchi



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 19:14:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocchi/pseuds/Chocchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Public affection and how it relates to forgetting your gloves at home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pockets

**Author's Note:**

> I am never going to get used to calling Bro Dirk. Never.  
> Also I was half asleep when I wrote this so uh feel free to tell me if something makes no sense? And yes, yes I am guilty of using far too many run on sentences. I'm only kind of sorry.  
> First time sharing homestuck fanfic, hope you all enjoy it!

Jake always initiates the physical affection.

It's almost like a rule at this point. For all his bluster, and vulgar comments, Dirk doesn't appear to have much (or any, really) experience in relationships. He circles around romance on tiptoes like it's a sleeping lion, and it's about as frustrating as it is endearing. Jake has resigned himself to the fact that if anyone is going to get them someplace, it will have to be him, because if he leaves it to Dirk they'll awkwardly step around each other for _months_. It's worth it, though, for the tentative but enthusiastic responses he receives once he's gotten them started. So he's okay with it.

On one particular winter morning they are walking side by side down the street, swaddled in heavy coats and scarves and layered clothes. Jake is marvelling over the infuriatingly inconvenient way his glasses are fogging up, distracted enough that he just about has a heart attack when a cold, thin hand wriggles its way into his pocket and tentatively entwines itself with his. He casts a disbelieving look at Dirk; his eyes (as much as can be seen of them behind those shades) are focused forward, and the flush on his cheeks could easily be from the cold, but the hand in Jake's pocket is definitely attached to his arm. Jake hesitantly enfolds it in his own more thoroughly. Dirk's eyes flicker in his direction.

"Strider--" Jake starts.

"Shut up," Dirk interrupts, rather hurriedly. "It's just... it's ironic, okay, and also I forgot my gloves and my hands are fucking freezing."

He looks flustered and embarrassed and determined all at once, and how in the fucking dickens does such a look manage to melt Jake's heart into a puddle of goo that leaks heat into the rest of his body until he feels warm from his toes to the tips of his ears even in negative-five degree weather? His chapped lips split painfully when they stretch into a grin.

"Perfectly acceptable, my good man," he assures Dirk, using their tangled hands to tug him closer. Dirk stumbles against him, but quickly falls back into step. "My pockets are always open to you."

Dirk snorts, but his fingers curl into Jake's, all calloused but somehow also thin and fragile and slowly, slowly warming up and Jake thinks, _this is nice_ , and then he decides that Dirk will definitely need some more thorough warming up once they've gotten home, the kind that happens together on the couch under a pile of wool blankets, in front of the fireplace. Yes, that sounds like a good idea.

He opens his mouth to share this plan with Dirk, but for some reason all that comes out instead is "I love you."

The blond splutters incoherently for a moment, caught off guard, then buries his red, red face in Jake's shoulder and mumbles "I love you too, you gigantic _sap_."

Jake just beams and squeezes his hand.


End file.
